The Problem with Gardening or Why Gardeners Garden

Why would anyone in their right mind willingly give themselves the heartache of yet another row of young runner beans, decimated overnight by marauding slugs? The grief is real: time, skill, energy, tender care was devoted to raise the plants from seed. To what avail one’s labour now? Is this the problem with gardening?

And yet…

The quiet pleasure of sowing seeds and patiently waiting. The child-like satisfaction of finding a small green shoot pushing its way to the light. Wondering at the strength of such a fragile piece of nature.

Watching the seedlings grow: perhaps half a dozen in small pot; perhaps a greenhouse full, all different kinds. Or, as I was wont to do during a non-greenhouse stage of my gardening life, filling even the bedroom with an array of seed trays that needed daily turning to give each seedling a share of the precious sunlight.

A day in mid-spring, the air is cool walking down the path but inside the greenhouse is warmth. The task is to transplant seedlings into a richer soil, better suited to their growing needs. An enveloping atmosphere of calm soothes as fingers move in familiar patterns. Shooing a kitten from lying on the seedlings and into her own basket, stroking soft fur with the back of my hand (less soil-covered) being spoken to in a soft purr.

After transplanting, comes potting on. Now there is an opportunity to gently tip out the plant onto your hand and admire the roots shimmying towards the edge of the pot-shaped soil. Another wonder of nature. And, more practically, a chance to be sure the plant is growing healthily.

Then the nail-biting episode which is hardening-off. Hardening of your heart, perhaps, because to linger too long can be as detrimental to the young plants as forcing them out into the cold too soon. Introducing your youngsters to the great outdoors via a coldframe, or straight onto the patio on a sunny afternoon is a bold step. But braver still is their first night outdoors. You check the weather forecast from at least three different sources and gaze at the clouds with your own weather eye. A snap frost is one of the gardener’s enemies. It isn’t just the seedlings you worry about, but the early blossom on the fruit trees and browning of camellia flowers before a dear friend can admire and enjoy their beauty.

Is this the problem with gardening, that it is a constant series of battles?

Next up is the renewed war against the slugs and snails following the winter’s truce. Will eggshells, bands of copper or nematodes prove the best line of defence for your plant babies? And the war is fought on more than one front, as foxes, pigeons, deer and the neighbourhood cats and teenagers loom on the horizon. The number of garden pests is legion and comes in many guises.

Not that you have favourites, you love all your plants equally, if for different reasons, but there is one which is given extra care. It survived the experience of hardening off, positively thriving in the experience of being outside. Growing, needing to be re-potted, you water and tend to it.

Then one day you notice a leaf that looks less than healthy. You’re not worried: overall the plant is healthy. It has been fed the correct organic feed, has its roots in nutritious compost.

A couple of days later, the plant is drooping – not a lot, but noticeably so. There’s no sign of aphid or caterpillar damage. You check the compost; it has just the right amount of moisture. Perhaps it’s the location that’s wrong? Afternoon sun should be fine, but you move your plant to catch the morning sun instead, in case the warmer days have caused the problem.

The move is a success as your plant perks up and smiles at you on your morning walk around the garden, coffee cup in hand, cat purring round your legs. Although does the foliage look less luscious than before? You tell yourself to stop fussing, new leaves can be seen peeping from just below the apical bud. Your plant is fine. Is this the problem with gardening? The worry over plants that are not thriving?

Holidays

Your bags are packed for a few days away. A neighbour is coming in to feed your cat and water your plants. The border plants won’t need watering, but those in pots probably will. You’ve made things easier for them by lifting out from the border those pots that were filling in gaps. Nestled together on the patio for convenience, they look rather good. Your mind pursues the possibility of making a new feature there. Perhaps using metallic pots to catch and reflect the glimmer of the fairy lights draped around the French window. Maybe this is the problem with gardening? That the constant cycle of birth and death imparts a restlessness?

It’s late when you return from holiday; the garden is filled with dark shapes. Your cat jumps up on your bed as you unpack, purring and helpfully walking on your clothes as you try to put them away.

With your morning coffee in hand and feline shadow at your heels, you wander round the garden. The early morning light shines through the petals of flowers newly opened since your departure.

You come to the terracotta pot where your prize baby grows. Was growing. How can such a change have happened in such a short time? Many of the leaves are wilting, dying, others have died.

None look healthy.

And although you search through every part of the plant, its compost, around and under the pot, there are no clues. You can find nothing to account for the sudden demise of your precious plant.

You grieve.

Then a while later a gardening friend offers you some seeds from their plant, a sibling of yours. Is this then the problem with gardening, that it engenders hope? Hesitatingly, your hand reaches out…